


Charlie's Costume Party

by MagicMarker



Series: October 2014 Daily Writing Challenge [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: ((sort of)), Alternate Universe - College/University, Costume Parties & Masquerades, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, First Kiss, Halloween, M/M, October Daily Writing Theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicMarker/pseuds/MagicMarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the October Daily Writing Prompts going around Tumblr in 2014.</p>
<p>Day 1: Costume Party</p>
<p>Charlie throws a costume party where Dean meets a very interesting, sort of pushy, blue-eyed mystery man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charlie's Costume Party

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to themcgeek for her beta help. Let's see how many of these we can do!

“So come over around 8:30 or 9, and you better wear a costume.  If you don’t, you have to get something out of my back-up box.  And they’re all those store-bought, polyester, ‘sexy’ versions of mundane things, so unless you feel like letting it all hang out, Winchester, you’ll come prepared.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Whatever, Charlie.  See you tonight.”

“Love you!”

“I know.”  Dean smiled and hung up the phone.  Charlie would decide to have a party the day of Halloween.  But whatever, it’s probably going to be better than sitting inside watching Harry Potter re-runs and running through calculus homework.  “Hey, Sam,” he called as he entered the living room. “Just got off the phone with Charlie.  She’s having a Halloween party tonight.”

Sam hit the mute button as Quirrel announced the troll in the dungeon. “That sounds like fun.  I could dig out the stuff we wore at Moondoor.  It’s gotta be around the apartment somewhere.”

“You can wear a costume if you want.  I’m just going to be my handsome self.  If anyone asks, I’m a poor mechanical engineering major too busy with his studies to have ever felt the tender touch of a wom—Hey!”  Dean picked the throw pillow back up off the floor by his feet and swung it across the top of Sam’s head.  “Watch it! My poor virginal heart can’t take this abuse.”

Sam rolled his eyes and stood up.  “You are gross and pathetic.  Now let me go find if I have any of that face paint left.”

A few hours and several layers later they rolled up in front of the address Charlie provided.  The front yard of the house was decked out in everything from fake headstones to tissue paper ghosts to purple and orange lights around the porch.  A Buffy-style Devil’s trap was drawn on the awning right in front of the door, and other various symbols were scattered along the railing, over the doorjamb and across the windows.  

Charlie swung open the door with a flourish. “Gentlemen!  Speak, friend, and enter!”

“Seriously, Charlie?” Dean arched an eyebrow and folded his arms. “We’re playing that game?”

“You bet your britches, Winchester.  Especially considering you aren’t wearing a costume and will have to pay the price.”

Sam’s brow crinkled, creasing his face-paint. “Oh jeez, I should know this. I’ve only seen that movie a million times.”

Dean looked between Sam and Charlie as she smirked in the doorway.  “Guys.  Come on.  Ugh, okay, fine. _Mellon._ Now let us in and give me beer.”

Charlie pivoted to welcome them in. “Knowing your Tolkien trivia does NOT get you off the hook, sir.”  

Clapping a meaty hand on a tiny shoulder, Dean laughed as he shoved by. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Codex.”

“NoooOOOOOoope! I said what I meant and I meant what I said, Dean Winchester.  YOU are coming with me.”  She gripped his arm above the elbow and strode towards a huge Rubbermaid tub sitting under the snacks table.  Charlie pulled it into the open, threw the cover off, and dug through the miles of synthetic fabrics.

“Charlie, lay off it.  I’m a struggling mechanical engineering undergrad, too caught up in his studies to have ever felt the tender touch of a—“

“Does anyone ever fall for that?” a rough voice asked from behind Dean.  A tall, dark-haired man stood in a suit and trench coat, a red solo cup in his hand.  He had a bit of a smile on, and gestured towards the box.  “Rules ARE rules.”

“Hah! How’d you like to be Slave Leia?  No, you’re right, you’re too busty for my brassiere.  Come on, Dean, take off some layers and help me.”  Charlie tugged at Dean’s flannel shirt.  “Come on, you’ve gotta be roasting.”

“Yes, Dean, take off some layers.”  The new guy was downright fucking smirking at him.  Smirking!  What had Dean ever done?  Well two can play at this game.

“And what exactly are you supposed to be, huh?  Tax Accountant?”

“I’m Constantine.  From the DC comics?”  

“Ah-HAH! Get over here, Doctor Sexy.” Charlie held up a lab coat and a belt with a huge buckle. “I’m sure I have a stethoscope in here somewhere too.  But you’re going to die if you leave the jacket AND the flannel AND the long-sleeve t-shirt on.”  She stood up and handed him the stethoscope.  “Now, I’m sure I could find a pair of rubber gloves around here somewhere,” she joked, “but you should play catch up to your sasquatch of a brother. Grab a drink. Have some fun!  I’m going to go find my Glinda…” With that, she whisked herself away, leaving Dean to put away the costume box.  Of course.

He put the cover on the tub and kicked it away under the table again.  The Constantine guy was still there, watching him.  “Well, I guess I’ll do what the lady says.”  He took off his jacket, flannel and long sleeved shirt, leaving only a v-necked t-shirt underneath the lab coat.  “You need a refill on that?”

The Constantine guy tipped his cup back and forth, then tossed the rest back.  “I do now.”

“So tell me about this Constantine character,” Dean said as he pumped the keg.  “Does he, like, fight crime?”

“In a sense, I suppose.  He’s more of an antihero.  Really into the occult.  Magician. Con man.  Chain-smoker. Bisexual.” He said everything so dead-pan that Dean wasn’t sure anymore if he was talking about the character or himself.  Well.  He probably wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise, right?  It wouldn’t hurt to try and take Charlie’s advice.

Dean took a step into the other man’s space and glanced down at his lips for a long moment.  “Well,” he murmured, “it’s a good look for you.”

“Thanks, Doc.”  Large blue eyes leveled a playful stare.  He opened his mouth again and—

“BEEP BEEP! Move your ass, Winchester, you aren’t the only one who wants a drink tonight!” A smaller guy with a yellow wig sticking up in tufts and a torn-up blue and orange outfit elbowed between Dean and Mr. DC Comics, stumbling on his way to the keg.

“Jesus Christ, Kevin!” Dean scrambled to get out of the way, but it was too late.  The entire contents of his cup had spilled down his shirt. “Sonuvabitch.” There went his master plan.  “Sorry dude, I gotta change.  I can’t drive home smelling like beer.  Maybe I’ll—“ _Seduce you another time?_   “See you around.”  

Dean grabbed his long sleeved shirt from the pile he’d made behind the costume box, and headed upstairs to the second bathroom.  One arm already out of the lab coat, he pushed the door closed and stripped the soaking t-shirt off.  Just his luck.  This was NOT how he wanted the evening to go.  That Constantine guy seemed really cool, and now he’d have to try to find him again and start all over.  Or worse – he could already have moved on to the next person.  

He leaned his forearms on the counter and shook his head.  Whatever.  Maybe he could talk to Charlie and figure out that guy’s deal.  That guy.  Dean didn’t even know his name, and he was already trying to make plans to stalk him down and meet him again.  Yeesh.  He really must need to get laid or something because seriously this was getting into pathetic territory.

There was a short knock at the door, and before Dean could say anything the door was opening to reveal Mr. Constantine. “Hello Dean,” he rumbled as he pushed his way in and closed the door behind him.  All of a sudden he was pressing up against Dean and sliding his arms around his naked waist.  “I figured, why waste a perfectly good opportunity?”  He moved in, lips hovering above Dean’s, breath warm.  “What do you say?”

Well this was new. Dean hooked his thumbs under the trench coat and in the back of the other man’s waistband.  He pulled at his hips and brought their bodies together, tilted his head just so.  “Show me what you got, Constantine.”

Constantine pushed Dean backward so he leaned against the sink, their lips crashing together.  Dean half laughed, half groaned as he spread his legs to make room and Constantine moved immediately into the space.  Their hands went everywhere, Dean pushing at the jacket, pulling at the tie, twisting his fingers in that brown, sexed-up hair.  He shuddered as he felt a finger draw slowly down his spine and rest right at the top of his ass crack.  They rolled their hips into each other, tongues sparring, lips stamping wet, hot kisses down each other’s neck and collar.  Heat blossomed low in Dean’s stomach, and he thrust his hips forward; he couldn’t help it, he needed to feel that sweet friction or he thought he would burst.  “Oh, shit yeah!”

“HEY!  Are you about finished in there??” a muffled female voice called through the door. “If you aren’t puking your guts out you gotta let me in.  I have to pee like a race horse and if you make me wait one more second I’m just gonna go right here in the hallway.”

Dean let out a deep breath, looking skyward for a moment before bellowing, “TWO SECONDS.”  In a softer voice he continued, “Hey, you should, uh, call me sometime.  We can go somewhere less…”

“…In demand? Here, let me.”  He produced a black smartphone and brought up a New Contacts screen.  “Okay, Dean Winchester,” he started slowly, then handed the phone to Dean, who took it and gaped.  “It’s already 12:30? Shit, Sam said he wanted to be home by midnight, I gotta get going.”

“DAMN RIGHT,  WINCHESTER.  I AM THREE SECONDS AWAY FROM LETTING GO RIGHT HERE.”

“Dammit, Meg,” Dean punched his number in as fast as he could—

\--“THREEEEE”--

Handed the phone back--

“TWOOOO”--

Kissed Constantine one last time—

“ONE!”

And swung open the door.  “Jesus Christ, Meg, just fucking go.”  The two men made their way down the stairs and Dean spied a VERY impatient looking Sammy folding his arms and tapping his foot.  “I gotta… I’ll see ya around.  Text me or something, will ya?”

The other man tightened his tie under his collar and smiled.  “Sure Dean.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning Dean woke up with the horrible realization that despite having shared the hottest make-out session in recent memory with him, he still did not know Constantine’s real name.  Fuck.  Well when he texted him to make plans, he surely would lead with his name, right? Because he was the one with Dean’s phone number, not vice versa, so he would probably open with that, so Dean wouldn’t delete it or something.  Right?

His phone pulsed twice on the table beside him.  Well. That was fast.  He rolled over, yanked his phone off the charger and unlocked it.  As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes he groaned.  Three words came into focus.

 

_Hello, Dean.  –Constantine._

 

 


End file.
